


Deduce me

by XKurapikaX (orphan_account)



Series: Forbidden & Unrequited [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Iceman Mycroft, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Teenage Sherlock, Teenlock, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-07 15:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20819588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/XKurapikaX
Summary: Mycroft couldn't fight off his growing into an obsession need to always have everything under control.Naturally, the first thing he could learn to control was his baby brother.





	Deduce me

Mycroft couldn't fight off his growing into an obsession need to always have everything under control. Naturally, the first thing he could learn to control was his baby brother.

When Sherlock was seven and scared of ghosts and monsters, he would often crawl into his brother's bed at night. Even though there was a prominent age difference, that of seven years, Mycroft could never turn Sherlock away. He would always tell him, although without much conviction, that such creatures didn't exist. Explaining properly meant that Sherlock would learn to rely on himself, and Mycroft couldn't allow that. Instead, he patted the other side of his bed with an encouraging twist to his lips.

When Sherlock was nine, Mycroft was his rock. He believed that his older sibling was smarter than all the teachers at school, and mummy, and daddy altogether. Mycroft had all the answers so Sherlock didn't bother to ask his parents about anything. His brother would always answer his questions in an exhaustive way, was able to shut out his doubts, and successfully silence his fears. To nine years old Sherlock Mycroft was bigger than the world. Because Mycroft knew everything about the world, and the world knew nothing about Mycroft.

When Sherlock was eleven, he read the Bible for the first time. For his young, hungry, and brilliant mind such lecture was a perfect fodder. The many historical links, metaphors, and overall complexity of it captivated him. He told Mycroft that he was going to become a Christian. His brother chuckled but didn't advise him otherwise. Sherlock knew that Mycroft didn't believe in any God, and if he were as intelligent as his sibling, he probably wouldn't either. Mycroft wasn't worried about Sherlock's sudden fascination with religion since proper Christianity, more than anything, resembled a philosophical system. He knew that at the end of the day, he was superior over any God since he was Sherlock's older brother and the solid centre of his universe. Moreover, Sherlock didn't need to pray to him and he was always there in a flesh form. That was a great advantage, indeed.

When Sherlock was twelve, he barged into Mycroft's room with the Old Testament under his arm. He was beaming and as soon as he saw his older brother, he put the book down on the bed next to him. Mycroft could easily tell that the boy was excited as he flipped the pages to show him an excerpt from the Book of Genesis. 

"Look! The Hebrew word 'tesula' means 'rib' but also 'side'. God took Eve from Adam's side. So God didn't create Adam's partner inferior to him but equal. Eve's a perfect completion to Adam because they were one once! He was a hemo-hema--"

"Hermaphrodite, I assume," Mycroft chimed in, looking over his brother's shoulder to glance at the page.

Sherlock nodded feverishly.

"But you said 'partner', not woman," Mycroft was as cunning and attentive as always.

Sherlock licked his lips nervously. He waited for Mycroft to pat his bed so he could sit next to him.

"Many of the Old Testament's laws aren't respected nowadays because they were created for David's nation under Egypt's rule. For Jews, not Christians. When God says why something is bad, he usually says why or it's easy to guess. But," he looked into Mycroft's eyes intently. "He says that two men together are 'disgusting'. And he uses a Hebrew word which means that _he_ finds it disgusting. No logical reasoning."

Mycroft laughed in response.

"So you decided to overlook that?" He guessed correctly.

Sherlock bit his lip.

"Yes," he admitted.

Mycroft's vigilant look made Sherlock feel like he was seeing right through him.

"Why? There are more controversial excerpts in the Bible."

Sherlock avoided his eyes.

"Because," he started playing with his fingers. "Adam and Eve are a perfect combination. So God wants us to find our other half because when he created us he made us one, but then he split us into two."

"That's very romantic, Sherlock," his brother grabbed his palm to stop him from twisting his bones. "It reminds me of Plato's idea..."

The discussion was over. Sherlock couldn't explain why but he'd got a feeling that Mycroft knew what he wanted to say next but stopped him from saying it on purpose. He introduced him to Plato's idea of soulmates, and Sherlock gladly accepted it as his new view. They hadn't spoken much about the creation of man since then.

When Sherlock was fourteen, he was playing deduction with his brother during the Christmas eve after everyone had gone to sleep. It was his favourite game, although he had never been able to beat Mycroft. These days, their time together was always limited since Mycroft was busy at uni and he would only come back home on holidays or for Sherlock's birthday. Despite that, they were able to maintain their brotherly bond. 

"Go on," Mycroft said, motioning towards the couch in their parents' house. Since he had moved out he wouldn't call it home anymore which bothered Sherlock at first, but he quickly understood that home meant something else to his brother.

Sherlock didn't even glance at the couch but kept gazing at the other man, his eyes shining amusedly.

"I was conceived there," he said.

Mycroft snickered.

"How do you know?" It wasn't a surprise for him.

Sherlock smirked, took a few steps towards his brother, and fell on the couch. He patted the space next to him to encourage Mycroft to join him.

"Deduce me," he demanded when his brother took a seat.

He tilted his head so Mycroft could have a better view of his expression, and so he could see him better in return. A glimpse of uneasiness passed Mycroft's features.

"That's another game?"

"Yes," Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Go on."

"You argued with mummy three days ago," Mycroft began. Sherlock nodded. "You got into a fight at school recently."

"You've deduced this the moment I opened the door for you," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Deduce the present."

"You're tired," Mycroft shifted to stand up, but Sherlock gripped his hand, stopping him.

"That's all you see?" He asked, his blue eyes boring into him expectantly. "Tell me why I argued with mummy."

Mycroft inhaled deeply and leaned on the back of the couch.

"Because you had a fight at school."

"And why was that?"

"Because you're homosexual."

Sherlock didn't try to hide his grin.

"I am," he admitted with a note of something akin to pride in his voice.

"You could've just told me. It's fine," Mycroft told him because Sherlock always needed to make everything more complicated than it was. "Whether God likes it or not."

"I don't care if God likes it," Sherlock said a little harshly, but with hidden intent which Mycroft pretended not to notice. "What else do you see?"

He whirled around to fully face his older brother while Mycroft turned his head in the opposite direction. 

"Sherlock," he responded in a scolding tone. "I can clearly see that you're sleepy and it's about time we both went to sleep."

Sherlock's confident and whimsical expression stumbled suddenly. Outrage hardened his features and made him grip Mycroft's palm tighter.

"Why won't you say it?"

"You're a child," Mycroft reasoned, maintaining his patience.

"I won't always be," he argued. "Look at me," he tugged at his hand. "Look at me!"

Mycroft turned his head obediently but his gaze settled on the furniture behind his brother.

"I know what you see, Mycroft,” Sherlock’s tone was too urgent to be pleading. “We're like Adam and Eve, like the soulmates Plato was talking about--"

"All I see is my little brother," Mycroft cut him off, refusing to look at him. "Who's sleep-deprived and who I shouldn't have let stay up that long."

Sherlock gulped and licked his lips.

“I love you," he told him persistently. There was a hint of excitement in his voice as if saying that broke some barrier in his mind. 

“I see that too," it was all but a sigh. "But you’re young, you’ll grow up and---”

“I won’t grow out of it!” He cried, a wave of anger cracking his composture. “I’ve seen people in love, I’ve seen these fools head over heels, and this is not it. _ This _ is love, we’re made for each other. We complement each other.”

“We’re brothers, Sherlock,” Mycroft shushed him. A single wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows when he finally looked into his brother’s furious eyes. “What does God say about incest?”

“The incest rule was made to avoid producing damaged babies,” he said quickly, although there was a shadow of doubt hovering over his words. “We’re humans, therefore imperfect. That’s why we’re brothers and both male. It couldn’t be that good---”

“It's enough,” Mycroft's stern tone caused him to halt mid-sentence. “Of this nonsense. Your mind is clouded by a belief. This is not true, Sherlock. Nothing of it. There’s no such thing as love. There’s no God above us. You want to believe it, I wanted too when I was your age. But we’re definitely not made for each other. Love is a chemical defect in our brains, that is all.”

“It’s not---”

“What do you know of chemistry, Sherlock?” Mycroft crossed his legs and his expression changed into the impassive mask his brother hated the most. 

“Fifty-one percent of scientists describe themselves as believing,” he shot back to shatter at least one of his brother's arguments as well as avoid answering the rest.

“Don’t forget that social sciences are also sciences."

“It doesn’t matter! It doesn't contribute to their naivety. ”

"Doesn't it? My philosopher brother," Sherlock scowled at his patronizing tone.

Mycroft's approach to the subject had already changed and Sherlock knew that the moment it had the conversation was basically over. 

“All you feel is coded in here,” Mycroft tapped his temple. “It’s just vasopressin swirling in your brain.”

“It might be but it doesn’t change--”

“It’s just a distraction. Love is irrational and a waste of time. You don’t really want to be its prisoner.”

“What I feel---”

“Is not special at all. Most people experience it at some point. You think that what you feel is special, but it’s really not. It’s just stupid and childish.”

Sherlock’s jaw tensed but he said nothing. His stormy eyes were glaring at Mycroft.

“If God loved you, if he existed, he wouldn’t tempt you like this. Unless he’s just cruel,” he added. He stood up as Sherlock’s sweaty palm finally left his. “Goodnight.”

When Sherlock was sixteen he didn't believe in anything else than himself. He didn't believe in God, he didn't believe in love, and he didn't believe in his brother. He closed off his heart and learned to see feelings the way his brother had portrayed them. It was a convenient state of things for Mycroft. That way he had it all all under control. 

\--


End file.
